


Colors

by KaydenVayne



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-23 16:59:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7471830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaydenVayne/pseuds/KaydenVayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A vignette shedding light on Delphine's perspective surrounding the events of her "betrayal" in 2x01.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Colors

**Author's Note:**

> Hella unoriginal title for this minific inspired by the song “Colors” by Halsey, since it’s been playing on a loop for two hours now. Comments and constructive criticism are always appreciated. Thank you for reading. 
> 
> Trigger warnings: reference of a suicide attempt, blood, illness

 Red has been your favorite color for as long as you can remember. Every tone and hue, from the lighter diluted shades of eggshells dyed on Easter when you were five- not long before creationism fell to the wayside in the wake of science and reason- to shades of maroon so deep they seem to swallow you whole like the silk sheets that you burned on with one another for the very second time. Red was warmth. It was gentle. It was life, flowing in your veins.

Flowing in your veins but expelling from her mouth, staining pristine white with a shade of red that feels foreign though you’ve seen it a million times- in scratches and scrapes, vials labeled with faceless patients’ names, and only once as it slipped with deadly silence down the bathtub drain.

_“I’m sick, Delphine.”_

Her words bounce around in your skull until they are all you can think- jumbling, running together and rewriting themselves in variations of the same phrase, the message always the same. Your internal monologue is a broken record. _I’m sick, Delphine. Sick. Delphine, I’m sick. Sick. Sick._

_Dying._

She is dying. But she doesn’t know it yet.

There is so much she does not know.

She does not know that red is your favorite color, nor that you did not think it possible to love the color more until the first time you saw her in that beautiful bright coat. She does not know that you stopped wearing it the morning after she seared fire into your skin in a musty loft that you do not yet realize you will never step foot into again. She does not know you hated the sight of it so much as you scratched “324B21” in black ink down the side of a single vial with shaking hands that you trashed the few articles of red clothing you brought with you and left the rest to rot in Minnesota.  

The blouse you wore to Leekie’s office that day was blue.

Blue. You’ve heard it to be symbolic of honesty, of truth. Of trust. 

_“I wanted to trust you.”_

Even as you slip away with a day old promise freshly betrayed, you remind yourself that you are only doing what you have to. That you will do whatever it takes to save her.

_“You can trust me.”_

And she can trust you, truly. But she does not know it yet.


End file.
